


Artisan Enchantments

by OpheliaAlexiou



Category: Hard Fantasy, High Fantasy - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Elves, Enchantment, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Male Character, Gnomes, Halflings, Humans, Interracial By Fantasy Standards, Interspecies Romance, M/M, Magic, Male Homosexuality, Male Protagonist, Male Slash, Oral Sex, Orcs, PWP, Romance, SGR, Same-Gender Romance, Trolls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-18 19:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3581448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliaAlexiou/pseuds/OpheliaAlexiou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The unedited romance of two enchanters, one a leatherworker and the other a swordsmith, in a remote town in an exotic locale, populated by a diverse panoply of races.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artisan Enchantments

                As he stood on the uppermost, easternmost of the town’s nine high-elevation bridges, he looked east over the Sotran Sea to the vast breadth of the Markalian Ocean. The sun was already over the horizon, though most considered this time of day to still be more-or-less sunrise, as it looked as if the sun were only a few inches from the ocean-waters. The town of Zokh-enth’ir was the southernmost point of the Talbras Continent, west of the incomparable magnitude of the Kaluthind Continent. Talbrasians were rougher and harsher than Kaluthindians; life on this continent was unlike life on the largest continent on Lhune or anywhere in the seven moons. The power of the Diaboline Divinities was as strong in Talbras as it was weak in Kaluthind, and there were several nations governed by those loyal to the Diaboline. Zokh-enth’ir was not the sole beacon of the Ambrosine on the continent, but few places existed wherein the influence of the Ambrosine Divinities was felt in Talbras.

                At six foot four inches and two hundred ninety pounds, Tadric Lokh was short and slim for an Orc, if not by comparison to a human. Irises of greenish-hazel stared out from skin of medium grey wreathed in black, shaggy hair, falling freely around his face and reaching his shoulders. At this moment, he was dressed in lambskin in the form of a half-sleeved shirt and ankle-length breeches of chamoisee brown colour accented by a pair of ankle-high boots and a belt, each of coffee-brown leather with nickel buckles. His attire was what one would have expected, of one ranked twenty-third amidst the Masters of the Leatherworkers’ Guild in the entire area. His ensemble also included a lambskin greatcoat of seal brown, and he held in one hand a fine ceramic mug that contained twelve ounces of coffee, or at least it had, when he first arrived on the bridge. Neither the tallest nor the shortest on the bridge, the grey-skinned Orc was somewhere in the middle, his yang-shaped ears alert for unusual sounds in his peaceful home. He had migrated here a hundred and fifty years ago, when he was twenty years old, at which point he had met the lover with whom he now shared a life and a shoppe.

                One final sip of his coffee, then he turned and walked to the far side of the bridge, to look west, over the town itself, home to some fifty thousand Orcs, Elves, Trolls, and Halflings. Each of the bridges was about sixty feet wide, and three hundred feet in length across open air, reinforced at each end thoroughly to ensure stability as they connected mainland and mesa cliffs through the narrow channel between. The uppermost, easternmost bridge was about two hundred feet away from the uppermost centermost bridge, and five hundred feet straight down was the centermost, easternmost bridge, where other sunrise-watchers had accumulated. A four-tiered city, the two centre tiers boasted of balcony-like roads with homes and businesses on only one side, carved into the stone face of the cliff. Each tier was connected to the other tier, the summit, and the harbour-basin, by a total of four monumental spiraling ramp-ways hewn down through the rock of the mesa on one side and four more drilled into the stone of the mainland cliffs.

                At the harbour-basin itself, there were great wooden dockyards on both sides and entire sections of the town where dozens of cottages and several important civic structures were built. They also included dry docks, where a ship could be hauled from the ocean’s embrace for repairs and then smoothly returned to the waves when those repairs had been concluded. Little fishing boats dotted the deep coastal waters; mercantile vessels of various sizes sailed beneath the high-altitude bridges and made port to sell their cargoes or trade commodities one for the other.

                Many nicknames had been given to Zokh-enth’ir, by those naval merchants who sailed the broad Sotran Sea, all of whom received welcome in this port. Humans had nicknamed it Portmesa, while it had been given the nickname Two-Wall Harbour by the Gnomes, Goblins, and Dwarves, and the Ogres and Cyclopes had named it Port Twin-Cliff. Adnorines and Gnolls nicknamed it Sun’s Harbour or Straitport, for their part, though every traveller acknowledged the true name was Zokh-enth’ir, a compound of words from the languages of Orcs and Elves. A combination of zokh, an Orc word meaning ‘artisan,’ and enth’ir, an Elf word meaning ‘village,’ it had been founded from the beginning as a peaceful harbour settlement for those who wished to hone their skill in the art of their choice.

                On the summit of the mesa, some of the Elves had planted gardens and a mixed forest, granting Zokh-enth’ir access to oak, maple, ash, alder, birch, and hornbeam. This provided them a bounty of lumber, fruits, vegetables, and nuts, supplemental additions to the diet of local fish and imported meat and dairy. Finally, he turned and walked north, following the bridge back to the summit on the mainland side, turning right onto a cliff-side road, then turning left and going a little further north, near the end.

                There sat a small estate in a two-acre square, with more than four-fifths of the property’s just over eighty-seven thousand square feet of land being a thick lawn of beautiful, myrtle-green grass. Set in the near-centre of the property though offset distinctly back from the road and closer to the cliff, there was an impressive two-story structure, whose second floor was significantly smaller in terms of interior area than the ground level. The ground level had an area of sixteen thousand square feet, built to order on the plans that Tadric and his mate chose, having commissioned an architect and offered some indicators about what they wanted. The path split at the front of the structure, with two doors in the front wall of the first floor, with a sign embedded in the centre of that wall which had the name of their business: Artisan Enchantments. The left door had a sign to the right of it, with the word ‘Leatherworks’ engraved on it, while a sign to the left of the right door read ‘Swordworks’ and indicated that to be his mate’s showroom.

                He considered a moment but then walked into his own showroom first, six thousand square feet of floor space with a counter just inside the door, on the right side, behind the sign. The showroom had shirts, pants, boots, gloves, hats, belts, greatcoats hooded and unhooded, all made of leather with wool or cotton chords for laces, or metal in the form of buttons, buckles, or laces. He had also placed cuirasses, greaves, gauntlets, bracers, vambraces, gorgets, helms, and heavier boots, out on exhibition as evidence of his ability to make not just attire but armour, too. Tadric proceeded through the showroom to a door in the back corner, on the right side from the perspective of someone who just stepped into the door, and moved into his workroom. He removed his greatcoat and hung it up on a hook on the wall, looking around the large workroom, itself having a thousand square feet of floor-space. The leatherworker had stacked up all manner of basic materials and raw resources, as well as his work tools, all the things he would need to implement his craft. For more than a year, neither Tadric nor his mate had needed to work continuously, their business prosperous to the point they could have taken a vacation for the next three years if they wanted.

                “Olan, are you awake yet?” shouted Tadric warmly, as he stepped through the door into the living space on the ground floor, entering the kitchen at the back of the house. There was a square-spiral staircase in one corner leading up to the second floor, wide windows on either side of a fancy wooden door with large glass panes. On the opposite wall, the front of the building between the two workrooms was the couple’s pantry, and looking through the glass of the home’s rear windows, he could tell that his mate was not in the yard. Tadric had always loved Olan’s name, since he felt like their names complimented one another: Olan was an Elf-name that meant ‘walks amid soft leaves,’ while Tadric’s was an Orc-name that meant ‘walker on smooth stones.’

                Receiving no response, he climbed the stairwell to the second floor, which took the form of a small hallway connecting four rooms. The staircase was in the rear corner, the same as its’ position in the kitchen, and went forward until it was over the pantry. The hall’s four doors led to two guest rooms on one side, hardly ever used with their doors open and the bedding crisp and neat, and on the opposite side, a large bathroom and then, their personal bedchamber. Between the west wall of the house and one guestroom, was a narrow offshoot hallway that ended in a wood and glass door leading onto a roof with a three-foot-high stone face that served as the rail. A similar door was found in the room the two artisans shared with one another, leading out onto the other side of the roof, and looking through both, Tadric could see his mate sitting in a seat looking east over the ocean. He delayed a moment, stripping off most of his clothes down to a pair of knee-length cotton undergarments, and then proceeded out to their rooftop terrace.

                A Dark Elf six foot six inches in height and two hundred forty pounds, Olan Moonshadow was well-muscled and handsome, and the embodiment of his particular Elven sub-race. He had smooth, true-black skin with a matching mane in a shoulder-length ponytail, with nails and lips and tongue of the same, the latter iridescent with moisture. The sphere of each eye was likewise true-black, the sole colouration of his entire body found in dark turquoise irises that shimmered with bioluminescence as he turned his head to look at his approaching mate.

                “There you are,” said Tadric as he approached his lover, who remained seated, clothed at the moment in only a pair of soft cotton undergarments of a cornsilk yellow colour, “I was wondering if you were awake.”

                “You know I like to watch the sunrise in private,” Olan replied, “Still not sure why you like watching it with other people. You’re just in time, though, I only just poured my coffee.” As he spoke, Olan’s thighs parted to create a decent-sized space between his knees, looking over at his mate affectionately. Tadric chuckled and shook his head, a smile forming on grey lips as he moved between his lover’s spread thighs and lowered onto his knees, sliding the Dark Elf’s smallclothes down as his hips rose off the seat briefly. Soon, the undergarment was crumpled on the terrace tile, Olan’s hips were settled comfortably back on his seat, with his eleven-inch shaft of rock-hard, true-black shaft already standing erect. His hand rose, fingers slipping around the two-and-three-quarter-inch thickness and beginning to stroke gently as he looked up at his lover.

                “Perhaps if I had the same treatment while I had my coffee as you receive while you drink yours,” he offered teasingly, before leaning forward and letting his tongue slip out. Olan smiled at him thoughtfully, lifting his coffee to his mouth and as Tadric’s tongue touched the base of his cock and slid lovingly up the full length of it, he took a brief sip of his coffee, his free hand moving down to the Orc’s hair.

                “Mm, you’ve been saying that for decades, love. Maybe I’ll take you up on it, someday,” Olan replied as he felt the soft, silken lips of his lover wrapping around the sensitive tip of his length. He closed his eyes a moment with a sigh of pleasure as he felt those lips sliding down his length, the moist muscle of his tongue spiraling around it when Tadric started to suck gently, lovingly on his prick. His fingers wriggled into the Orc’s hair, getting a firm grip as he took another drink of his coffee, thinking about how fortunate he was to have such a devoted lover and partner in life. The clean, fresh smell of the oceanic mesa breeze filled his nostrils as he took another drink of the vanilla-flavoured coffee, enriched with similarly flavoured cream as he stared up at the scattered, fluffy white clouds floating in the sky.

                Tadric offered a soft moan, a sensuous vibration rippling through his lips and tongue into his mate’s sensitive flesh as he moved his head up and down. His own nostrils were filled with a combination of the fresh, coastal mountain air and the warm, exotic musk of his mate’s Elven form, and eyes fluttered shut with focus. Olan’s firm phallic muscle rose into his mouth and throat, with a richly savoury taste on his tongue, one Tadric greatly enjoyed, just as much as he enjoyed the sensation of this little morning ritual of theirs. He was always impressed by his lover’s calm demeanour, his ability to remain relaxed and receptive as he drank his coffee while Tadric took care of his morning arousal. Most men that Tadric had been with, before their hundred-plus-year relationship began, were the sort who would have stood up and taken a more aggressive approach, either setting their coffee down or spilling it. Olan, however, savoured both the coffee and the oral, though the Dark Elf had never provided oral to Tadric while the Orc was having his own coffee in the morning. Tadric was more than proficient at this, though, and by the time his coffee mug was nearing empty, he was straining to draw out their mutual pleasure by resisting the urge to release.

                Finally, however, he cocked his head to the side as the sound of a bell on the south side of the house reached their ears, rung by someone who had come into the ‘Swordworks’ side of their joint business. He sighed softly and he released his tension and resistance, allowing himself to reach the desired climax. Sweet-flavoured seed pulsed through the length of his shaft into Tadric’s mouth, where the Orc readily consumed a release sweetened by a healthy, balanced diet rich in fruit, nuts, and vegetables. Finally, he slid his seat back and stood with a sigh, slipping his hips back as he pulled out of his lover’s lips, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead before pulling him up to his feet.

                “Guess it’s time to get dressed,” Olan said with a faint sigh.

                “At least we managed to have time for our morning coffee,” Tadric replied as they reentered their bedroom.

                “And your morning treat,” Olan grinned playfully as he straightened his smallclothes, before dressing himself in a simple outfit of cream-coloured lambskin in the form of ankle-length breeches and a sleeveless doublet. This was accented by a belt and ankle-high boots of dark brown leather with buckles of burnished nickel, descending the stairs as the outdoor bell of the Leatherworks rung. It could only be rung by someone standing inside the showroom, seeking the attention of the resident leatherworker, and so Tadric veered off to one side to his customer while Olan went to his own showroom.

                As Olan entered the showroom, he found it inhabited by a handsome, compact young man of Human origins who looked as if he were somewhere between nineteen and twenty-two years old. He stood sixty-four inches in height and one hundred thirty pounds, athletic and well-muscled though he was clearly by no means a warrior. He was dressed in a half-sleeved shirt of cotton with a royal azure colour and black leather pants, both having black wool laces, nickel-buckled black leather belt securing the latter. His ensemble was rounded out by a handsome, brass-buttoned greatcoat of finely woven wool in a black colour, and calf-height boots of nickel-buckled black leather, the former having wrist-length sleeves. The young man had hair of chocolate brown that shimmered like jewel dust, which flowed freely down to his shoulders with a fringe in the front that fell across the right side of his face. This fringe fell over irises that had an incredible shade of Prussian blue to them, which looked up and out in the direction of the Dark Elf as he appeared, smiling up at him in a sort of demure way.

                His skin was light, having an apricot colour that complimented both hair and irises alike, and he held in his hands, laid on the counter at the front, a box of polished, dark mahogany wood, that was rather large. If Olan’s eyes determined the size accurately, it looked to be six inches tall, twelve inches from side to side, and twenty-four inches in length, with a seam that suggested that it split slightly off-centre between a base and a lid. Boyish facial features remained focused intently on the Dark Elf as he moved into position behind the counter, disregarding a pair of scale-armoured humans with swords, who were clearly the young man’s personal guard.

                “Hello, welcome to the Swordworks,” Olan greeted warmly, continuing to focus his attention on the youthful, diminutive male, rather than his protectors, who were noteworthy for being both older and taller than him, “My name is Olan Moonshadow.”

                “A pleasure, sir,” replied the young man, “Your showroom is quite impressive. My name is Josselin Harrow, of the Barony of Harlowe, where the Sotran Sea meets the Markalian Ocean.”

                “You have come quite some way to see me, Baron Harrow,” Olan observed, and the young nobleman nodded in response, though Olan thought his cheeks looked slightly rosier than they had a moment prior.

                “Your work was acclaimed to me by one whom I regard as trustworthy, as well as the discretion of distance, and under the circumstances, I would not wish it widely known I sought out an enchanter,” the young baron proceeded to reveal, “It is, you see, a matter of the barony’s neighbours. Harlowe is surrounded by several minor but significant independent cities, and the city lords have begun to court the barony for esteem and preferential treatment, by various means.” He paused here, as if he were both considering his words and allowing the esteemed artisan to say something, though Olan decided to be patient, to permit the young baron all the time he needed. Olan was it was fair to say, rather intrigued, by the intricacies of the humans living in southeastern Talbras. His intrigue benefitted the young baron, as well, since it increased the likelihood of him accepting whatever commission was requested.

                “Of course, you might legitimately ask, how is this problematic for me? A barony certainly benefits anytime a noteworthy neighbour wishes to assimilate into the territory. Well, the issue lies in the neighbours themselves, and in Harlowe’s placement: our position on the western shores of the Markalian means the barony must frequently interact with the mighty ocean lord, Delithrawyn. Delithrawyn is the lord of the whole of the Markalian, and every one hundred years, he comes to collect the stipend that bestows on us his forbearance and the permission to fish in waters that are his property. This is a source of some trouble with the city lords wishing to join the barony: of seven such cities, only one is itself a port city on the Markalian. One is a port on the Sotran Sea that has never any encounter with the mighty ocean lord while the rest are inland, and have similarly never dealt with Delithrawyn,” the young baron continued. He took a breath, and then proceeded through the conclusion of his explanation of the situation that his barony was facing.

                “As a result, a few have made precondition that they would wish their city and its’ lands to be exempted from the baronial law requiring every part of the barony to contribute to the centurial levy. For the benefit of all coastal residents of the barony, that law just isn’t negotiable; I won’t put that kind of strain on those who live by the water,” baron Harrow went on, “yet they continue to court Harlowe for inclusion. Some of the cities furthermore have a history of bad blood with one of the others, and have issued warning that if their rival city joins they will not. To complicate it even more, a few of the cities have refused to reveal their theosophical predisposition: the citizens of Harlowe favour the Ambrosine divinities. If one of these cities were to be inhabited largely by followers of the Diaboline divinities, it could lead to a calamitous loss of life that I would much like to avoid at all costs.”

                “So you need something that would permit you to divine who you can trust, who you cannot trust, who gets along with whom, and I presume the item in the box is what you would like enchanted,” Olan said at last, which young Baron Harrow answered with a prompt, courteous nod of confirmation. Then, he removed the lid and laid it gently on the polished, light-coloured maple of the countertop, to reveal an intricately crafted pocket watch about two inches in diameter. Likewise in the box, and by far the more mesmerizingly beautiful item, was a long, thin dragon, which was undoubtedly the marriage of masterwork made by a marvellous metalworker and an extraordinary clockmaker. It was wrought of brass and aluminum, with a gear on either side of the mouth that would serve to articulate the jaw, directly in front of a feather-designed fin on either side of the head. It had small sapphire eyes and a pair of narrow, blade-like horns on the top of the head, one over each eye, and spikes down the neck that got smaller the further from the head it went.

                The head itself was proportionate to the body, which was serpentine in style, about three-quarters of an inch in diameter and thirty-two inches in length, the length curled into a loop in two places, easily and comfortably. It bore a gear at either side of the base of the neck, about two inches below the head, with a wing stabilized by skeleton-like, articulated metal bones with metallic joints. Each wing had smooth, thin scales, and just below each wing, about one inch further, was a fully-articulated arm with a four-clawed hand, an elbow with a feathered fin, growing out from it with a base wrapped around the inside of the elbow. Eighteen inches from this, a pair of fully articulated legs having four-clawed feet, before the tail then continued until it ended in a three-scaled tailfin. The vast majority was of brass, but the wings and tailfin were unique from this: the inner half of each was brass, but the tail had three long aluminum plates that were long, rectangular at one end, and the outer wing plates matched. Each one ended in a half-hexagonal shape, angling sharply inward and then less sharply to where the plate’s end would be parallel to the flat base of that particular piece of aluminum, more-or-less.

                The pocket-watch, itself, was likewise ornate, and when opened it had a crisp white background and striking black hands and numbers, with a lens of polished crystal instead of glass. He was suitably impressed by the skill that was possessed by whomever had made these, both the smith of the individual pieces of metal and the clockmaker that had devised, assembled, and secured the finished work.

                “The craftsmanship of these items is phenomenal. I can enchant these quite heavily, indeed, although it will require a considerable investment of time,” Olan replied as he examined the ornate items, without touching one or the other directly. He did not need to touch them to examine them, either as an artisan or as an enchanter, and he wanted to make it clear that his enchantments would be expensive and time-consuming.

                “As far as anyone in southeastern Talbras is aware, I am on holiday at an exotic locale, having left my affairs in order and the barony in the care of a loyal and principled tactician,” replied the young baron, “The wellness of my barony are in the balance. I am not prepared to be hasty or parsimonious in this; I am willing to pay as much as eight thousand gold coins and my ship can remain in the harbour for as much as two months to allow all the time you need.”

                “A most generous offer, and your forethought and preparation are impressive, though I must tell you it will not take near so long, nor cost near so much. Four thousand seven hundred gold coins when the enchantment is done, and not before, and the enchanting should be done in four weeks seven days,” Olan replied, much to the young baron’s surprise. He was unaccustomed to having someone return money to him, whether he had offered a vast overpayment or a minor one, whether he had overestimated greatly or modestly the time it would take.

                “Your honour and truthfulness will be long remembered in the halls and chambers of my family’s villa, Olan Moonshadow, and perhaps someday, spoken of by my people, as well,” said Josselin firmly, and Olan nodded to him.

                “I could ask no more than such fair recollection. Do you speak any of the Exotic or Uncommon Languages?” At current, they were speaking in the Common Language, sometimes erroneously referred to as Human since roughly two-thirds of all Humans spoke Common to the exclusion of all others. In comparison, every other language was then considered either Uncommon, when a large minority of the populace of Lhune and the Seven Moons spoke it, and if it was spoken by an extremely limited number, it was designated an Exotic Language. Elven and Dwarven were both Uncommon Languages, while the Drake Tongue was an exotic language, since few but Drakes themselves spoke it at all, much less with fluency.

                “I know a modicum of Orc and Goblin, a few sentences of Troll and Gnome, some discourteous words from the Gnoll language and some similarly unkind words from the Fairy Tongue,” he replied, and Olan nodded.

                “So then it would be safe to say you know nothing of the Elven language, and that fact would be well-known in proximity to Harlowe?”

                “Correct,” he confirmed, and Olan nodded.

                “Excellent. I will set to work on the necessary enchantments to give it the abilities you require, this morning,” Olan assured him, “At which inn have you taken lodging?”

                “The Silver Chalice, down by the wharfs,” Josselin replied, “I must tell you, it was quite a hike to come see you, noble enchanter.”

                “You didn’t take the carriage? If you walked this entire distance, yourself, you demonstrate considerable and impressive stamina, Baron Harrow.”

                “I have always enjoyed moving under my own power. I enjoy horseback riding, but I have found that horses do not frequently sail well, so I left mine at home,” Josselin replied.

                “He insisted on _running_ the first two miles,” interjected one of his guards with an unsmiling expression from behind him, who looked to Olan as if he was near to his forties.

                “I suppose we can take the carriage back as if I were some primping, pompous aristocrat,” Josselin answered, turning his head slightly to glance back at his guardsman sympathetically. He had an easier time running in what he was wearing than they did in their own gear, leather by itself was a lot easier to run in than leather, heavy metal scales, and lugging about a heavy sword and a steel kite shield.

                “Thank you, my lord,” answered the second guardsman, who looked as if he had only entered his thirties in the last two or three years, placing him a few years younger than the other. Josselin then excused himself to let Olan begin his work, and promptly departed with his personal guard. A few short minutes later, Tadric strolled in and took a long look at the ornate clockwork dragon and pocket-watch, at which point Olan shared the client’s story.

                “So, what about your customer?” asked Olan, once he finished.

                “An overland Gnome trader named Dellu Hamir, from the coastline west of here; he recently lost his caravan to an assault where the wagons were destroyed and the ponies stolen. Fortunately, he was wise enough to store ample funds to rebuild in a bank in one of the Dwarf-states he trades in, though now he needs a way to transport his cargoes more securely and more clandestinely. He was able to hire a considerable and impressive escort contingent with what remained, and he was quite specific about what he’s seeking: saddlebags with a greater containment enchantment and a satchel with the same.”

                “Hmm, that sounds like a pretty simple and straightforward task, then, at least,” Olan replied.

                “My most recent containment enchantment was able to hold as much as twenty thousand pounds of content, between twenty compartments. I doubt he has enough wealth to fully fill a twenty-compartment satchel, and a forty-compartment two-strap saddlebag,” Tadric replied thoughtfully, “I’d be impressed with his successfulness if he did. I would also be surprised if he could afford that much and chose not to simply buy a boat instead.”

                “Twenty thousand pounds?” asked Olan for confirmation, and Tadric nodded, “That’s considered as greater containment according to the guild, isn’t it?”

                “Yes. Not sure I’ll ever reach the volume the guild defines as tremendous containment. You know Kandil at the docks?”

                “He’s the enchanter who went shipwright, isn’t he?”

                “That’s the one.”

                “What about him?”

                “He recently put a containment enchantment on one of the _caravels_ he built.”

                “Do I want to know how much that thing’s able to carry now?”

                “Probably not. He named the ship ‘the Colossus,’ though, and he lists it at a hundred thousand gold coins. If either the name or the price are any indication of the capacity of that little thing, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know how much it can carry, either,” Tadric said.

                “Well, let’s have breakfast, before we get to work on these commissions. Do you even have any saddlebags or satchels left in your stock?”

                “Yeah, thankfully; Dellu wants to get back to his storehouse and loaded up within two weeks,” Tadric said, as he reached the showroom door and held it open for his mate.

                “How many soldiers did he hire for an escort, anyway?” asked Olan, reciprocating the favour by holding the kitchen door open for his lover.

                “Forty-eight Dwarven axe-wielders and twenty-eight Gnome crossbowmen,” Tadric replied, “He had every one of them with him, too, waiting politely on the street outside. I think he wanted to make a show of it, you know, so travellers would comment on how well-protected he is now, discourage ruffians and scoundrels from attacking again.”

                “Seems like a good strategy, if it works it’ll save lives all the way around.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this story and think you might enjoy reading more of my writing, please consider checking out the published writings on sale in Barnes & Noble's Nook market. I have published 3 novels so far, in the Hellenic/Greek mythological fantasy genre, though they contain no graphic erotic content. The protagonist is a blind, bisexual son of Apollo, and the stories are set just before the rise of Alexander the Great; if this sounds like something you would enjoy, please click below:
> 
> [Of Emeralds and Gold, Part One](http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/of-emeralds-and-gold-part-one-ophelia-alexiou/1120962746?ean=2940151484145)   
>  [Of Emeralds and Gold, Part Two](http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/of-emeralds-and-gold-part-two-ophelia-alexiou/1120962748?ean=2940151572019)   
>  [For Glory and Honour](http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/for-glory-and-honour-ophelia-alexiou/1120962753?ean=2940149998401)


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